


Yrsa

by Feralrunaway



Category: Sand Castle (2017)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Bodily Fluids, F/M, Historical Inaccuracy, Loss of Virginity, Oral Sex, Primal Sex, Rough Sex, Smut, Soul Bond, Soulmates, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-12 00:21:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28751352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feralrunaway/pseuds/Feralrunaway
Summary: A supernatural AU featuring Captain Syverson as a Viking Berserker warrior.
Relationships: AU Captain Syverson & Reader, Captain Syverson (Sand Castle) & Reader
Kudos: 5





	Yrsa

“I want to hear you beg for it.”

The man leered at you, the stench of his rotten teeth reaching you even through the bars of the makeshift prison fitted to the back of the slaver’s wagon. He cackled at your deep glare, holding the small tray of hard bread and day-old vegetables just out of reach. 

“Got us another stubborn one. Don’t worry, pretty girl. You’ll come around soon enough, yeah? They always get hungry eventually.” He pawed at your ankle through the bars and you growled, kicking out at him but narrowly missing, and he cackled again. “Give it time, little bear. You’ll be begging for me to come back soon enough.”

You bared your teeth at him as he left, stubbornly refusing to give them the satisfaction of seeing you beg. You would rather starve to death than bend to the will of your captors.

“So feisty still. Don’t worry, yrsa. They will tire of the taunting when you give them less sport.”

You looked to the woman on your left. Likely a great beauty under normal circumstances, her long thick braids were slightly disheveled, her fine blue shift covered in smears of dirt indicating she had put up a fair few struggles herself before adopting the bored expression she now held. She gave off an air of strength, even in the cramped, miserable quarters of the cage. Fierce features and a regal air made you desire to lean into her strength, however feigned, but you resisted.

You huffed and threw yourself back against the bars before drawing your arms around yourself. The late autumn chill was seeping in now that the sun had gone down and you spared a brief glance at the fire the slavers were huddled around. You would not be jealous. 

“And how is it you ended up in this mess? You look as if you could walk away whenever you choose,” you grouse.

She spared you half of a sardonic smile and lifted the hem of her dress enough to reveal heavy manacles latched to both her ankles and secured to a bolt below her feet. 

“They learned quickly. Stuck here for the time. Besides, if…when I get out of here, my brother will have my head for letting my axe out of my sight long enough for these brutes and brigands to get their hands on me.”

You sniffed, feeling a bit chastised for your annoyance toward the woman. 

“What about you, Little Bear?” she prompted with a smirk, looking over your attire, “You’re obviously not from here. Did your father owe someone too much money?”

You huffed again. “My father died when I was a baby. My mother too. I was taken quite far away and raised by my aunt. I was venturing into your lovely lands to find out if I had more family or any history here. Much to my current despair,” you finished, rolling your eyes. 

The two of you sat in tense silence for moments, soaking in your venomous wrath toward the men who had taken you by surprise at the last village you had stopped at for the night. Brigands, both local and foreign to these cold Northern lands. The bottom of the barrel, operating solely out of greed for what they could profit on when pulling lone humans from their beds at each place they passed by. Violence and chaos left in their wake.

“Do you have any idea where they are taking us?” you prompted when the silence grew too heavy.

“South most likely, toward Hedeby. There is a trading settlement there. We won’t make it that far,” she expressed with a surety you envied. 

—————

Asbjørn Syversson stood before the forest’s edge, observing the small caravan. For the last seven days the Berserkir warriors had tracked the thieves, the last three of which they had kept them in their sights. Three days of concealment among the trees, observing their soon-to-be prey. Three days to delve into the rituals so vital to communion with the bear spirit within. To prepare for battle.

The brigands had stolen the king’s sister from the village she had been visiting. The idiots had no idea who they had among them, the danger they had placed themselves in. The king had called upon his Berserkirs to retrieve her and punish the men. They had no idea the hell that was about to rain down upon them.

Syversson shifted on his feet, suppressing the straining beast within. Something was different about this hunt. Something that scratched at his skin, woke his senses. A…scent in the air, one that got stronger as they narrowed the gap to the traveling party. 

His men, sensing his tension, rose to their feet behind him, readying themselves to allow the bear spirit free reign of their bodies.

“It is time.”

——————

“There, now you look like a proper Northwoman,” your companion laughed as she finished braiding your hair. You had learned her name was Bodil. She had quickly found that maintaining conversation was a fine way to distract you from your anger long enough to convince you to eat.

“Mm. Just in time to be sold like livestock. We seem to be getting closer to our destination,” you remarked glumly. “I’m sorry your hope of a rescue did not come true.”

Bodil chuckled. “Oh hardly, my sweet friend. They’ve been tracking us for days. I’m surprised you had not noticed them yourself.”

“I am no tracker. How was I to have noticed?” you replied, a sudden bloom of hope erupting in your chest.

She hummed in reply, avoiding answering.

Your eyes skimmed the perimeter of the camp as the brigands prepared their evening fires. You saw nothing out of the ordinary. Perhaps Bodil was just being hopeful, imagining a rescue that would never come. Or perhaps she was telling you such things to ease the worry in your heart until you reached the trading settlement.

“Rest now,” she said, obviously sensing your doubt, “They will come soon.”

—————

You jolted awake to the sound of a deafening roar.

Disoriented, you cowered to the corner of the pen, trembling. 

“Do not hide girl,” Bodil said. She turned to you, grinning like a madwoman, her eyes alight and fierce. “You will not want to miss this.”

You crept forward slowly and looked out between the bars. The camp was in disarray, men tearing themselves from their sleeping rolls to gather weapons, their countenances dripping with fear.

Another fierce roar vibrated across the land, and this time through your chest, down your spine, and down even to your toes. Your heart pounded. Your hands gripped the bars and you pressed forward to see. When your eyes fell upon the source of the brigands’ fear, your mouth went dry.

Perhaps ten men (if you could call them that, for they were the largest men you had ever seen) approached the camp at a swift pace. They wore no shirts, not a stitch of armor amongst them. They were bare from the waist up save for the skin of a bear draped across their shoulders, some with the pelt covering their own scalp and the face of a bear hanging over their foreheads. Every one of them thick with muscle and their eyes completely feral. These were more animal than man.

“What are they?” You asked, hating the tremble in your voice.

“Berserkirs. My brother’s prized warriors. Our most fearsome defenders. The spirit of a bear resides inside each of them. Part man, part beast. And very entertaining, if you understand me,” Bodil’s eyes were alight with both humor and fervor. This woman must be insane, you thought.

Their leader charging in the front of the group let out one more deafening roar, his almost-fangs on full display, the corded muscle in his neck pulsing beneath a thick tangle of beard. The sound rang through you again, causing every nerve of your body to leap to awareness. Then they descended upon the camp. 

Axes and swords swung high, arcs of blood following in their wake. Some did not even bother with weapons, tearing into their foes with their bare hands. Men…well, parts of what used to be men…were thrown to and fro in their battle fury. An errant arm smacked against the bars of the cage that separated you and Bodil from the fray, before landing in the mud with a thump. You yipped in surprise, falling back onto your rump. The sound drew the attention of the man nearest you, their leader. His inhuman eyes locked onto your face momentarily, sending a jolt of lightening through your senses, before he tore his gaze away and back to the slaughter. 

You turned toward Bodil to see she was still smiling, battle-lust strong in her eyes. Her fingers moving of their own accord as though she wished she was participating as well. Not that she would have had much to do, as the battle was quite brief, and soon you found yourself staring over a campsite of slain men. The Berserkirs stood breathing heavily amongst the bodies, each one of them covered in a spray of blood. 

Their leader locked eyes with you again before moving closer. You felt rooted in place, your chest heaving. 

“Asbjørn, son of Syver. Leader of my brother’s warriors,” Bodil identified as he placed his hands on the bars. He seemed not to notice the introduction, eyes roaming over you. He sniffed the air slowly. He may have been the most beautiful, most terrifying man you had ever laid eyes upon. His bare chest was covered in thick curls of hair that trailed down his stomach and below the waist of his pants. Your view felt locked upon him, drawn to his handsome features. As your eyes trailed back up to his face, he cocked his head to the side slightly as though in question. Suddenly the muscles in his chest and arms bunched, and the bars were torn away with a resounding crack that jolted you to your core. 

“Yrsa,” his deep, gravelly voice caused an involuntary shiver to run down your spine.

“What does that mean?” You asked, unable to take your eyes off the formidable creature devouring you with his gaze. You felt a heat blooming in your lower belly the longer he stood there, drinking you in.

“She-bear. His spirit recognizes yours, I gather. Have fun with that one, my little friend,” Bodil grinned wickedly as another of the men came over and hacked open the chain of her manacles with an axe and she leapt from the makeshift cage. 

“B-but Bodil! Wait!” you tried, but she was already walking off, pausing only to pull an abandoned axe from the chest of a slain man and jauntily following the men who were now stripping the camp of any valuables and making their way back to the woods.

You had no option but to turn your attention back to the very intense, very intimidating stare of the warrior blocking your own exit from the carriage. Had this been a rescue only meant for one? It only occurred to you in that moment that you were still a stranger here. One who had been meant to be sold as property. Would these men have a similar intention? Perhaps you were quite stupid in that moment, but the thought made you angry, so you returned the intensity of his stare with a low growl in his direction.

To your complete and utter bemusement, it drew a slight smile from the man. He reached out toward you and you flinched back, earning a sharp look from him. But instead of his hand harming you, he simply ran one of your braids over his open palm in a seemingly reverent gesture. He then leaned in closer, his nostrils flaring slightly as he breathed in your scent. He hummed low in his throat, causing you to clench involuntarily.

It was then you lost all your senses. You dove under his arm out of the carriage and rolled through the mud to your feet, taking off at a sprint. To where, you had no idea. You likely had no hope of outrunning the man or his party, no idea why you even were. It’s not like he had harmed you, quite the opposite in fact. But the loss of control over your own reactions in combination with the brutality of the battle you had just seen take place had your primal instincts running high, so your only thought was to flee.

—————-

Syversson watched you scamper away like a frightened rabbit. He tamped down his instinctual urge to give chase. You wouldn’t get far in these unfamiliar woods. 

He walked back to the woods to the camp where Bodil and his men waited, using the time to wrestle his own bear-spirit back into submission. He’d never felt anything remotely similar to the feeling that had clawed through his body when he laid eyes on you. Raw, fierce, visceral desire. Not just of the flesh, but an impassioned, soul-deep hunger had overtaken him. He needed to know you. Taste you. Feel your aromatic, soft skin under his fingers. But more than anything, he desired to mark you. In every way possible. To dominate and make you unquestionably his.

Tense, he crossed the final distance into the woods to where his men would camp for the night. Several pairs of half-golden eyes trained themselves to him as he approached, fading back into their normal hues as the men’s own spirits returned to the forefront of their consciousness. 

“Return the shield-maiden to her brother. I will join you in the great hall in one week’s time,” was all he managed to grit out, before turning to gather his own sparse belongings and setting off in the direction you had run, Bodil’s knowing laughter fading into the forest at his back. 

—————-

So stupid. Absolutely idiotic. You had made a mistake.

You had always had a fondness for the forest back home. You spent inordinate amounts of time trekking and exploring the trees near your aunt’s village. You had thought you would be fine on your own. How wrong you were. 

These Northern woods were thick, unfamiliar, and disorienting. And so cold. You had wandered for nearly a day and a half and not found your way out. Completely lost and frightened, you sat down on the trunk of an overturned tree to soak in your own despair for a while. Fuck. You shivered, your kirtle was half soaked with frozen mud. You needed to find shelter or build a fire before the sun set or you would freeze in your sleep. You needed food. And you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was watching you. Giving yourself a mental shake, you stood and made to trek on. 

An hour later you found yourself standing at the mouth of a cave, the darkness inside both intimidating and inviting. You wanted desperately to shelter inside and begin building a fire with the wood you had gathered. You crept inside the mouth of the cave, moving slowly. Once inside, you placed down the wood and set to work stacking it and preparing the fire, your unease drifting away as you worked. Relief hit you as the first small flames began licking up the stack of wood and you held your hands toward it to warm them as you knelt on the stone ground. 

Within minutes your frozen fingers had thawed and you began wondering whether it was worth the effort to find food to gather as darkness began to fall outside. Perhaps you should sleep and worry about finding food in the morning light. You raised your head to assess the best place to lay yourself near the fire, and found yourself staring right into a reflective pair of eyes.

You gasped and fell back, scrambling away from the large grey wolf staring at you from across the fire. It began moving closer to you, its lips pulling away from its teeth as it paced slowly in your direction. You racked your mind, desperate to think of a way out of this situation as the animal drew nearer. Was this it? Rescued from slavers only to be eaten alive by an angry denizen of the forest? Your fear of the Berserkirs seemed ridiculous to you now. What you wouldn’t give to have that feral strength present in this moment.

You tried to slowly scoot yourself closer to the fire. If you could just grab hold of one of the flaming logs, perhaps you could scare the wolf away. At a snail’s pace, you crept your arm along the stone ground, reaching, leaning. Your fingers finally closed around the base of one of the torches and you tugged it lightly toward yourself. Weapon in hand now, you pulled yourself back just as slowly, desperate not to attract the wrath of the creature in front of you with any sudden movements. 

But just as you brought it near, your plan was foiled as the stacked wood from the fire collapsed, popping and crackling as it sent a plume of embers flying toward both yourself and your adversary. The wolf, agitated and emboldened by the sudden commotion, launched itself at you. Its jaws agape, the mass of fur and claws signaled your bitter, sad end. There was nothing left for you to do but scream your last rebellious cry at the world as you swung the torch toward your own doom. 

But you never made contact.

A roar reverberated through the stone walls of the cave, and something much larger and more furious made impact with the creature, throwing both itself and the wolf past the burning mess that was your fire. Two bodies made impact against the stone, growling, tumbling. Yips and roars of pain could be heard as your eyes made out the color of a man’s flesh tangled against the grey fur of the wolf and the deep, sanguine rivulets of fresh blood.

Syversson.

You watched, frozen, as the absolute beast of a man tore into his adversary. A battle between two animals took place before your eyes, fear and pity warring in your heart for both combatants. Another pained yip tore through the air and the wolf was thrown from the man. Clearly taking it as a signal to its defeat, the animal began a limping run toward the mouth of the cave. The man shot to his feet, clearly intending to give chase, but you had seen too much. You shot up to intercept him, and pressed both hands against his chest. 

“No! Please, no. It’s gone. Please.”

You were sure that he could easily knock you aside, but not much could be said in favor of your sense of self-preservation lately anyway. But to your surprise, he halted. His near-golden eyes slowly swiveled to your face, then down to where your palms lay firmly against his sculpted chest. His massive ribcage expanded with a deep breath, which he expelled as a firm chuff in your direction, clearly intending to signal his displeasure. Your knees weakened considerably at the action, but you stood as firm as you could, setting your jaw and glaring into his eyes. 

His eyebrows drew together as he observed your actions, his muscles dancing tense underneath your hands. It was obvious he was fighting for control over the beast inside himself. A low growl rumbled from deep within his chest, making your toes curl against the rough stone floor. Your now trembling fingers pressed more firmly against him in an attempt to guide him back.

“You’re hurt, please. Let me help you.”

His eyes traveled to where yours indicated, a deep gash across his shoulder that now sluggishly leaked blood. Your tone was clearly soothing enough for the large man, because he relented, allowing you to push him back toward the rough walls. Guiding him to sit, you quickly tore and gathered what clean cloth you could from your underdress, the over being still covered in now-dried but only slightly less frozen mud from your journey. You carefully wrapped the cloth around the wound and up under the pit of his arm before tying it off. You prayed to the gods you would be able to find clean water soon to wash it, but this would do for now. He never once winced with your ministrations, just monitored your face continuously with those eyes that were slowly fading from gold to a striking blue.

“Are you…are you human again now?”

He chuckled at that. “Yrsa, I will never be fully human. But my bear spirit has settled for the time, if that is what you mean.”

“Why did you follow me?” you asked, “Do you mean to sell me like those men did?”

A fierce anger overtook his features at that. 

“Sell you?! Never! I followed you because you are mine. Your spirit calls to mine, do you not feel it?”

You felt something, sure. But what was he talking about? Whatever you felt was surely just part of all the fear and exhaustion and bafflement at the entire situation you had found yourself in. “Y-yours? I don’t understand.”

“My mate.”

“Your…what? I don’t know what you mean,” you found yourself intrigued, but instincts had you moving back from him. You wouldn’t run this time, no. He had proven to be no harm to you, but you also weren’t sure what this mate business was all about and you weren’t sure what his intentions toward you were because of it.

“Perhaps it would be better if I showed you,” he said with a smirk, unfurling his legs and leaning forward toward you. He was an imposing man, all muscle and fur and gleaming teeth. Your breath quickened as he towered over your sitting form, moving closer until he hovered right above you. He sniffed at your hair, your neck, causing shivers to run the length of your body. You found yourself overwhelmed and unable to concentrate on anything but his own musky scent; earth, salt, and the coppery tang of blood lingered around him. Something primal within you reacted to it, causing you to inhale another deep lungful as your core clenched and you pressed your thighs together. His arm reached out, and you unconsciously braced for whatever he was about to do to you.

He grasped one of the logs from the fire and smirked at you again, then set himself to rebuilding the mess that had become of your makeshift camp. You watched, confused.

“You’re mine. Your soul was meant for mine. And mine for yours. I do intend to show you that, in many, many pleasurable ways. But most importantly, I will take care of you.” He gathered the furs you had seen him don previously and arranged them by the fire. “Come.”

You stared, unmoving.

“It is cold. You are shivering. Come.”

Your mouth gaped slightly. 

“I-“

“Come.”

Your body drew you to him, unbidden by your own will. As though some soul-deep part of you begged to obey his command. You lay yourself down, stiffly at first, though you relaxed as you drew closer to the warmth of the fire and furs. Feeling nearly delirious as your own body and desire betrayed your stubbornness. Perhaps this is how it ends, a small part of your psyche whispered. Perhaps this is how it begins, whispered another.

“Yes, yrsa. You are safe now. Lay with me,” he whispered in your ear as he enveloped you in his large frame and drew the furs around you both.

And oh if his skin wasn’t deliciously heated against your own, which up until that point you had subconsciously feared would never be fully warm again. Fine tremors wracked their way up your spine as you allowed yourself to relax into the feeling of him pressed up against you. His massive, muscled arm came around you, the pressure just enough to make you feel tender and encapsulated without feeling trapped.

The sound that rumbled from his chest as he felt you relax against him was both delicious and foreign at once. The deep, guttural hum seeped into your muscles and bones like the drum of a war march and the tranquility of a summer rain simultaneously. Could you reach euphoria from a single sound? 

Your eyelids sunk heavily as your pupils reached a zenith. A final shudder listed lazily through your being as you were drawn deeply into unconsciousness, feeling wholly, irrationally, for the first time since you were a child, that you were well and truly cared for.

_____________

It wasn’t until the dead of the night, when the fire had burnt itself down to embers, that you awoke. 

You weren’t sure of the cause at first, until that blissful hum penetrated into your half-lucid mind. The son of Syver remained stationed in a protective cocoon around your frame, though he stirred now, the movements of his deep breaths pressing him against you. As if he sensed your return to the world of the living, he nuzzled against your hair. No words needed spoken as you cued into the change in him.

Heat,

weight,

…need.

Any slight movements of your body caused you to press against that ardent need. The errant desire that pulsed through you at the realization caused your head to lull back against the firm wall of his chest, a low moan escaping your lips. That was all the encouragement he needed.

His large hands began to roam your body, causing all concerns to flutter away like petals of spring flowers blown in a heavy wind. You were suddenly devoid of all but a certain theme of awareness, drugged by the touch and vocalizations of a near-stranger. One who was no stranger at all, you knew deep down, for you were aware of who he was, regardless of any stubborn desire to rationalize.

You sensed the tension in him. The rapturous fury held leashed. The strength with which he held himself at bay did nothing but add to the heated desire building within you. This was part of you, you realized. A deeply dormant, visceral need contained in your soul which you had only just realized.

“Please.”

A needy whisper.

He groaned, muscles tremoring.

“Are you sure, yrsa? For I will not hold back once I have started.”

His proclamation was emphasized by a firm grip of your fleshy thigh, the painful pressure causing you to gasp. 

“I have no desire to be gentle with you.”

You moaned again. “Please!” came your desperate, breathless consent.

He growled his approval against the skin of your neck as you were roughly rolled to your back.

His tongue darted out from between his thick, plush lips as it traced your collarbone. You arched upward toward his hungry form, pressing your chest against his as his body drew over yours. 

“Your scent…your taste. It’s intoxicating,” he rumbled as his mouth further explored your skin. He moved up, capturing your mouth with his. He was not a gentle man. It was an almost furious kiss, stealing the breath from your lungs as his tongue pressed between your lips and began to battle your own for dominance. His heavy frame pressed into you with the most delicious weight, settled between your legs as he rendered you nearly thoughtless with his mouth upon yours. He pulled back, his chest heaving, and you nearly followed his mouth in desperation for more. “I must taste more of you,” he rasped harshly.

Rough fingers tore asunder the top of your shift, your small noise of protest only seeming to encourage him further as he greedily palmed your breasts. Each of your nipples was laved in turn, sucked into the warmth of his mouth, causing your body to undulate against his as a torrent of sensations flowed through your form and straight to your core. The urgency emanating from him did not allow him to stop there though.

His tongue and lips danced down your body, his beard tracing a burning trail along your skin, setting alight parts of you that you hadn’t even been aware could burn. You were desperately near begging when he finally pushed your skirts up, his eyes drinking in the sight before him.

“So. Beautiful.”

His words alone were enough to send a river of arousal dripping from you, but the awe present on his rough, handsome features nearly threw you over the edge before he had even touched you. Never had you thought your body was capable of such desire and need. A small whine escaped from you, causing his attention to finally snap to its target. As he lowered his face to your apex, you instinctually pressed up toward him. The hum of approval that fell from his lips as they met your wet heat vibrated through you and nearly made you delirious. His hands gripped at your thighs, the painful pressure only adding to your euphoria as his tongue pressed against you, lapping at your sweet folds rhythmically, firmly. It felt as though he were sending waves of pleasure through you, building to larger and larger cascades until they crested over an unyielding shore. You had never felt anything of the sort, and were nearly blinded as the pressure building within you snapped and you cried out in bliss, shuddering against him, though his hands held your hips firmly in place.

He rose back over you, one arm holding his weight from crushing you, the other reaching a hand to wipe his beard.

“You are…the most delicious, most amazing woman I have ever tasted.”

You had no words to offer in return as you fought to catch your breath. You stared up into his eyes as they devoured your countenance. The beautiful azure was slowly being tinged by gold. You watched in absolute awe as the stain wandered across his vision, not fully, but enough to tell you he was being consumed by instinct. The sight shook you to your very essence, and your legs spread unconsciously as your desire built again. His low growl signaled to you that his desire was just as strong, reverberating through your bones, sinews, and to your very core. His lack of movement told you that he was still containing himself. Waiting for your permission.

He had it. He had that and more. Whatever this was between you, you wanted to let him in, to let him own every inch of you. You reached up and began unlacing his breeches, his impressive length pressing taut against the leather. As you pushed the fabric open and down, over his hips, he shuddered, muscles bunching in his arms and chest as he fought his own instincts long enough to let you lead this small part of your impending union.

His revealed anatomy astounded you, your lips parting slightly in awe. It was somehow the most beautiful and frightening thing you had ever laid eyes upon. His heartbeat thundered visibly, apparent in the pulsing veins that wove thick and proud around his girth. You reached out and lightly, hesitantly traced a finger along one. His growl deepened significantly, pleasure and frustration spilling out of him in the waves of sound. You looked to his eyes, pupils lust-blown and dark amongst the blue and gold of his irises. One moment suspended in time as your eyes met. There it was. That mystery that linked your two souls. Your mutual desire, care, and need hung like a tether between the two of you, stretched taut. He saw the change in you as you recognized it, and with that, he moved.

Lining himself up with your entrance, he pushed his hips forward slowly. The intrusion was vast against your untrained walls. The stretch, despite his preparation, was both painful and pleasurable and you keened as he pressed into you, inch by deliciously torturous inch, tearing asunder your resistance. Your fingers clawed for purchase against his chest as he bottomed out within you, his moan of pleasure furthering your descent into a near-feral woman. He allowed you a mere moment to adjust before the dam of his control finally broke, and he drew back and began to thrust into you in earnest. 

You cried out as his pelvis rocked against yours, his length jutting into your core, his ridges burning friction against your soft walls. The painful pleasure of his rigid lust consumed you, ate up your thoughts until you were nothing but a being of pure, animalistic sensation. His face pressed against your neck, lips giving way to teeth as he marked your body as his. His rutting form enveloped you, skin pressing against skin, the coarse hairs of his chest creating further friction against your exposed breasts and nipples. As you cried out again, he pulled out completely.

His strong, calloused hands moved to your hips, flipping your body with ease onto all fours, and he slammed back into you without hesitation. You barely held yourself up as your body tremored all over. One of his arms snaked around your middle, holding you in position, as his other hand drew a possessive line down your back. This was it. This beast of a man would own you completely. Mesh his own soul with yours. And you wanted it so badly you ached.

His hips hit hard against you as his thrusts became impossibly stronger. The punishing rhythm he set made you feel as though you were being torn apart and put back together anew. His hand tangled in your hair, dragging you by a fistful up against his chest. He pressed his lips to your ear, his ragged breaths skimming pure bliss across your skin, causing your eyes to roll back behind closed lids. 

“You are mine.”

His grunted proclamation built the burning intensity in your womb to a blazing inferno. Set fire to your soul. You doubted any other words could ever cause such passion to flame within you. But as his next words left his lips, you learned otherwise.

“I.”

His thrusts grew erratic. You felt him swell within you. 

“Am.”

Your walls clutched him. The head of his cock slammed against your cervix.

“Yours.”

You fell apart. Fell to pieces. Your vision went white with ecstasy as you shuddered around him and screamed out your bliss.

His accompanying roar tore you asunder. He set his teeth into your neck as he came with a final slam of his cock into your abused hole. You could feel his hot seed spilling against your battered walls, soothing the delicious ache. Your trembling legs gave out below you and he eased you down to the fur-covered ground, collapsing beside you after he softened and pulled from you. You could feel his warm fluids dripping out of you and you shivered.

Syversson pulled you to him, turning you to rest your head against his heaving chest. His hand dipped down between your tremoring thighs and he ran his fingers through your gathered essence. A sigh escaped you as he touched you. Pulling his hand back up, he pressed his fingers against your lips, nudging them open. You laved your tongue around and between them, gathering every drop you could, sucking them clean. His softening manhood twitched at your actions and he groaned, pulling you up to kiss you. Your tongues danced around the taste of each other’s pleasure.

When he pulled away, you lay your head back down on him. 

“Rest again now, yrsa. Tomorrow we begin the journey back to the great hall.”

His deep breaths had almost instantly soothed you into a near-slumber, but you had at least the energy to ask.

“And what will become of me when we get there?”

He closed his own eyes and smiled.

“We will go before the king, and I will make you my wife.”


End file.
